er; and Anthony readily
promised to do his best, and, if necessary, to approach the Archbishop
himself: and Mistress Corbet was profusely grateful.

They had hardly done talking of the matter, when a trumpet blew suddenly
somewhere away behind the building they were in. Mary held up a white
finger and put her head on one side.

"That will be the Ambassador," she said.

Anthony looked at her interrogatively.

"Why, you country lad!" she said, "come and see."

She jumped up, and he followed her down the gallery, and along through
interminable corridors and ante-chambers, and up and down the stairs of
this enormous palace; and Anthony grew bewildered and astonished as he
went at the doors on all sides, and the roofs that ranged themselves
every way as he looked out. And at last Mary stopped at a window, and
pointed out.

The courtyard beneath was alive with colour and movement. In front of the
entrance opposite waited the great gilded state carriage, and another was
just driving away. On one side a dozen ladies on grey horses were drawn
up, to follow behind the Queen when she should come out; and a double row
of liveried servants were standing bare-headed round the empty carriage.
The rest of the court was filled with Spanish and English nobles,
mounted, with their servants on foot; all alike in splendid costumes--the
Spaniards with rich chains about their necks, and tall broad-brimmed hats
decked with stones and pearls, and the Englishmen in feathered buckled
caps and short cloaks thrown back. Two or three trumpeters stood on the
steps of the porch. Anthony did not see much state at Lambeth, and the
splendour and gaiety of this seething courtyard exhilarated him, and he
stared down at it all, fascinated, while Mary Corbet poured out a caustic
commentary:

"There is the fat fool Chris again, all red with his tilting. I would
like to baa at him again, but I dare not with all these foreign folk.
There is Leicester, that tall man with a bald forehead in the cap with
the red feather, on the white horse behind the carriage--he always keeps
close to the Queen. He is the enemy of your prelate, Master Anthony, you
know.... That is Oxford, just behind him on the chestnut. Yes, look well
at him. He is the prince of the tilt-yard; none can stand against him.
You would say he was at his nine-pins, when he rides against them all....
And he can do more than tilt. These sweet-washed gloves"--and she flapped
an embroidered pair be